


with only the stars to watch us

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Minor Injuries, Non-Graphic Violence, Outdoor Sex, Porn with Feelings, benarmie, runaways - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 20:18:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20318905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: While on the run from his father, Armitage takes a moment to do something with his boyfriend he's always wanted to do.





	with only the stars to watch us

**Author's Note:**

> Just doing a couple of drabbles to get caught up on KyluxXOXO prompts before summer ends! This is for Week Five's "Road Trip" theme, inspired by the words engine, journey, and station.

The straight, hard hood of the car, which would otherwise be murder on Armitage’s spine, is pretty comfortable with Ben’s jacket cushioning it. 

It doesn’t quite feel like a bed, not that Armitage has ever been flat on his back in a bed with his legs laced around someone’s hips. He and Ben had never exactly gotten to that point back home. Always “soon” and “someday” and “I’d do it, strawberry, I would, but your dad might—”

Armitage surges up to meet Ben’s lips in another kiss. He smells like the mossy air freshener from the car and the days-old body spray still hanging around his neck and his own, robust musk. All that, and the salt in the cracks on Ben’s lips, tries to keep him grounded in the moment.

After all, the last thing Armitage wants to think about right now is his father—yet even as he and Ben lie together beneath a vast blanket of stars, pressed together against the hood of the only car on the highway miles from even a gas station, visions of Brendol rise up unbidden in his mind like a voyeuristic sunrise. His presence looms, as if at any moment, he could materialize out of the dark desert, hiding behind bushels of shrubbery or curious coyotes or nighttime mirages and waiting for the proper moment to strike. 

But he’s not.

Brendol Hux is four-hundred miles away, nursing his pride and the imprint of knuckles swelling in his fat cheek. Furious. Maybe even plotting to file a police report. Alone. 

Like he deserves. 

As a boy, the faceless men and women of prestige around him had always commented on how alike he and Brendol seemed. Armitage had always resented that, still did now. He may be a lot of things, he knows that, but he isn’t his father. Never was.

Brendol’s alone now, cut off in his own miserable legacy, and Hux is nothing like him, because he has something his father will never have. 

He has Ben. 

And more importantly, Ben has him. 

A gasp echoes in the stark quiet of the night as their lips part. Armitage leans his head back against the mounded leather of Ben’s jacket, panting, looking up with lidded eyes. Even though he hangs over Armitage on the car hood, Ben looks as if every part of his body is illuminated, from the wrinkled white of his T-shirt to his dappled neck and face and spot of chest where Armitage had pulled down his collar, to the mottled bruise spilling out around his left eye, down to each strand of hair wild in the night breeze, a glistening void framed by stars above. The dark sky is a far less striking blue in comparison. If Armitage was more sentimental, he might think Ben looked like a shadowy angel or alien, descended from the stars to steal him away from it all. 

“Armie,” Ben groans, one elbow braced on the side of Armitage’s head, the other drifting along his torso, as if unsure where to touch. Armitage catches his wrist, guiding his fingers downwards until they brush up against the crotch of his slacks. Ben’s dark eyes flicker down before lifting to study his face, as if he hadn’t been expecting Armitage to breeze right on to third base now that the cuffs are off. Even though they were making out on the hood of a car parked on the roadside in the middle of nowhere, with no one to interrupt them or stop them from doing what they wanted. 

Armitage could kiss that bewildered expression off Ben’s face. Silly boy. Armitage has never made much of a secret of how much he _ needs _ him. Even when they couldn’t do anything about it. 

“You’re sure?” Ben says, fingers already on Armitage’s zipper. He’s not really so innocent, not with that low, gravelly voice whispering off his lips. Neither of them are children, or even teenagers any longer—they’ve kissed out their needs many times. This is just the next logical step, now that they’re free. 

“Yes,” Armitage nods, breath short. “Touch me.” 

Ben doesn’t hesitate much after that. He pulls down Armitage’s zipper and delves his hand inside, fingers curling around Armitage’s cock through his briefs. The material is so thin, damp with sweat, that it already feels like they’re touching flesh to flesh. Armitage tightens the grip his legs have on Ben’s hips, needing their bodies to be as close as they can possibly get. Closer than they ever have before. 

Once, they’d almost done it, gotten away with it too. Brendol had gone out for some sort of black-tie reception or other and left Armitage alone with an open window, a boner, and a serious, secret boyfriend. But Armitage had been too hasty—assuming Brendol wouldn’t return for any reason—and too bold, deciding he’d rather let his boyfriend take him on his father’s antique armchair rather than up in the relative safety of the bedroom, so they could rub their bodies all over the ugly, overstuffed cushions. 

A forgotten suit jacket had nearly cost Armitage the only thing that had been keeping him sane. Armitage had to wipe his mind in an instant, replace the lingering vision of Ben with the piggish, demanding, _ cruel _face of reality before him, who had only sniffed and grunted at him once before snatching the proffered jacket and slamming the door. Ben, who had just barely managed to steal away into the hall closet, had left not long after, too angry and shaken to continue. 

Armitage refuses to let Brendol ruin the mood a _ second _ time, but the memories come flooding back unbidden, the same fear and claustrophobia he’s known all his life tightening around him. 

Armitage whines as Ben’s hand starts to move, periodically squeezing his palm as he works up and down his shaft through his underwear. He tries to focus on that point of warmth and pressure, but apprehension still claws at his lungs. His breath quickens, from the arousal flooding his body and the panic edging in at the corners of his mind.

Fuck. Brendol’s still leering over him, still _ inside _ of him, spread like an infection, never flagging no matter how far he runs. 

“You should fuck me,” Armitage says on impulse, eyes still closed. He feels Ben’s hand freeze, fingers still caged around his cock. 

“Fuck you?” Ben’s voice, while still low and sultry, sounds surprised. “Right here? I thought we were just gonna do a quickie.”

Armitage shakes his head, opening his eyes a slit, but not enough to see Ben clearly. 

“We were. But you should fuck me instead.” 

_ And why shouldn’t Ben fuck him_, Armitage thinks as he shifts his hips off the car hood, trying hump his groin more against his boyfriend’s body. After all, Ben had fought for him and won. He should take it. Armitage needs someone to take him, to replace the fear and painful memories still festering inside of him with something fresh, to cleanse him free of his fucking _ father_. 

“Armie,” Ben lowered his voice, though there wasn’t a human soul around for miles, “I can’t, we don’t have any condoms. Or lube. Or anything.”

He's right. All around them yawns nothing at all. No walls. No house. No _ Brendol_. As far as Armitage is concerned, it’s perfect. Not ideal—but perfect. 

“You still can,” he insists, rutting his still-clothed groin against Ben’s. “I can take it. I don’t mind if it hurts.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“_Ben_,” Armitage growls, losing a little patience, “I want to feel something.” _ Anything but him watching me_, goes completely unsaid, instead again followed by: “Fuck me.”

“No, hush strawberry,” Ben brushes past his demand, causing Armitage to bristle. His boyfriend almost never said “no” to him, and he especially shouldn't _now_, when no one could stop them or tell them they couldn’t do whatever they wanted. But when Ben sticks that large hand of his into Armitage’s briefs to properly grasp his cock, he quickly forgets about his annoyance. 

“This’ll work,” Ben breathes as his other hand goes to his own crotch, fumbling with the zipper, “this’ll be even better.” After a couple seconds his jeans and boxers sag around his hips, cock pale and shining in the bluish moonlight. Armitage moans, _ wanting _ it inside of him, but he trusts that Ben knows what he’s doing, what they both need. 

Armitage looks down the length of his body as Ben strokes his cock a couple of times, smearing the little bit of pre-come along his shaft. He wastes little time pinching down Hux’s briefs until his own cock springs free, the desert breeze tickling the ginger curls sprouted around its base. 

Ben starts slowly, feeling out how well he could hold both of their cocks together with one palm. He arches over Armitage’s resting body, sliding it up against the hood until his feet leave the dirt below to dangle in the air. Ben’s free hand bunches the uniform shirt at Armitage’s slender waist, keeping him in place as best as he can as rolls his hips, rubbing their cocks together within the sheath of his fist. 

Armitage can’t help but watch in a daze, his lower lip bit between his teeth. Ben’s cock dwarfs his in a way almost comical but Armitage doesn’t feel inadequate or ashamed—he feels _ warm_, as if Ben’s palm is wrapped around his entire body instead of only his shaft, keeping him safe. Armitage’s nostrils flare with soft panting as he knits fingers in Ben’s hair, drawing him in closer as he feels need tighten in his belly, winding up to a peak. 

Ben’s pace gets a little more erratic as his hand strokes and squeezes, coming undone just like Armitage is. His fingers tremble, tongue lapping out between his lips. The moon rises above his wild crown of hair, silvery light clinging to his silhouette. There’s something pleading in Ben’s dark eyes, lips moving around senseless words that might just be heavy breathing, might be something more. Armitage’s fingers dig tighter knots into his untamed tresses, but his other hand still lies at his side, periodically digging its nails into the lining of Ben’s jacket. It itches with a need to move, to do something, especially when shakes the hair off his face and Armitage again sees that bruise—the one Ben had back paid ten times over—like a persisting, ominous cloud against his skin. 

“H-Here,” Armitage stammers, breaking eye contact as his hand closes around Ben’s, slim fingers brushing over his rough knuckles, skin just barely scabbing over. Ben stops stroking for a moment, taken aback by his touch, as tentative as it is. Armitage swallows, emboldened as he gives Ben’s hand—both their cocks—a careful, encouraging squeeze. 

“God, strawberry,” Ben exhales, his hips rocking with renewed energy, “keep going. Don’t stop.”

“Could...say the same to you,” Armitage whines, but focuses on guiding Ben’s hand, keeping the pace fervent but even, sliding from the base to the tip of their cocks then back again, endlessly, as endless as the stars above them, all around them.

In the moment Armitage comes, there’s nothing but the stars, Ben, and their two hands joined together. 

They spend some time resting on the hood, savoring the afterglow and gazing into each other’s eyes. Ben is the first to break the contact, but only to lean forward and brush their lips together, so it’s easily forgiven. Armitage gives his boyfriend’s hand one last squeeze when they part, knowing this won’t be the last time. 

Tempting as it is to spend the rest of the night in each other’s arms on the hood of a stolen car watching the stars above, there’s miles left to drive before they sleep. Ben’s cousin lives in California, and Armitage wants to see the way the Pacific lights up in the early morning sunrise before he gives in and finally gives his mind a rest. 

“See?” Ben laughs gently, reaching across the center console to pat Armitage’s thigh as he settles in the passenger’s seat beside him, “I was right. Now you’ll actually be able to _ sit _ for the rest of the drive.”

Armitage smirks even as he rolls his eyes. “You think you could’ve fucked me so hard it hurt? Someone’s confident in his so far unproven sexual prowess.”

“Sure I can.” Ben holds up a finger, rustling for the keys in his pocket with his other hand. “But it’s gotta wait until we get a proper bed. Gotta make it all classy, just the way you’re always telling me you like it. I gotta romance you before we take it all the way.”

“Romance? That’s hardly the Ben Solo method I'm familiar with,” Armitage teases, shutting the door behind him and adjusting the leather jacket about his shoulders. “You’re more the body spray and take-out dinner sort of lover than the pink champagne and rose petals on the bed type.”

“You so sure about that?” Ben grins in sly confidence as he starts the engine and puts the car in gear. “Wait and see ‘til we get to California, strawberry. Might be a changed man.”

Armitage gives him a skeptical look, before he rolls down the window and rests his elbow against the side door. He inhales the leather scent of the sleeve, relaxing. The wind ruffles through his already-mussed hair as Ben pulls the car off the rugged shoulder and back onto the highway. The landscape blurs into blues and blacks as they drive, even the grand rock spires and buttes in the distant falling away, but the stars stay constant above, a wander of sparkles across the infinite sky. 

Armitage steals a glance at Ben as he fiddles with the radio, settling on some rock music to keep him awake. He can’t see it now as it faces towards the other window, but he knows the bruise on Ben’s face must hurt him. Armitage hopes this cousin of his has the proper supplies so they can make it disappear as quickly as possible. 

They’re still miles away from a safe bed and a cold compress, but it’s closer than it ever was before as the car creaks and hums and eats the road away beneath its tires. 

Soft, staticky guitars fill the air, carrying Ben’s whispered lyrics. Armitage looks back out the passenger’s side window, resting his cheek against his arm. With any lingering fear lost to the wind trailing behind the glowing fender, Armitage’s mind fills with nothing but Ben—his face above him, his body pressed against his, the feeling of their hands grasped together as one, warm and strong.

It’s alright. They can wait. They can take their time. 

After all, he and Ben have their entire lives ahead of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heir_of_breath7/).


End file.
